In a rush, Cole felt as if he were standing outside himself, watching from a distance. He was standing in a potholed parking lot in god-knew-which city, trying to talk sense to a hemovore who thought he had an aversion to drinking blood.
Sandor leaned in now. “Gordo. I know it’s hard, but you must get out of the car.”
“No,” said Gordo, stubborn.
“It’s not sick at all,” Sandor wheedled. “It’s perfectly clean. Perfectly humane. More so than the cows killed to make the hamburgers you ate a few weeks ago.”
“I didn’t eat any hamburgers a few weeks ago. I haven’t had a hamburger in months.”
Sandor put his whole upper body into the car. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to you,” Cole heard him say, dripping with sympathy. “I know it’s a difficult adjustment. But you need to feed.”
“I’m never feeding again.” Gordo sounded as if he meant it.
This time Sandor emerged to shake his head sadly at Cole.
Okay. Cole grabbed the handle of Gordo’s door and pulled it open. This kid was worse than an omni. At least omnis either followed directions or were easily manipulated.
“You will feed,” Cole informed Gordo. “And you’re going to do it now.”
Gordo’s eyes narrowed. “No. I’m not. So back off.”
Sandor looked at Cole and shrugged: What should we do?
What indeed? They couldn’t physically force the kid to feed. If there was some kind of reverse psychology or cajoling that would work, Cole didn’t know what it was.
He slammed Gordo’s door shut and stood for a moment, trying to think.
“We’ll move on,” he decided. “Gordo’s trying to manipulate us into going to Missouri. Which we are not. So if he doesn’t want to feed, fine. He’s not used to missing a meal. At least, he hasn’t missed any since I’ve known him.”
“Definitely not used to it,” Sandor agreed. “In the Building, every time I came around a corner, there he was, feeding off someone.”
“Charming. Let’s just get in the car and go. Likely he’ll be ready when we stop for the day.”
At least, he thought as he got into the car, the kid’s seat belt is buckled.
They did try again, as they hit the outskirts of Wheeling. Sandor and Cole both saw the billboard at almost the same time and exchanged glances.
“Gordo,” Sandor said, “look at that billboard.”
It was an advertisement for a gentlemen’s club, a girl curled seductively on her side.
Cole thought he’d better let Sandor do the talking. Sandor was better at this sort of thing than he was.
“I’ll bet you’re curious to see inside a place like that, aren’t you, Gordo?” Sandor asked.
Cole could see that Gordo was curious; he didn’t move his head, but Cole could see his eyes following the billboard as they passed.
“Two more exits,” Sandor said. “Let’s try it. Gordo, I’m sure you will find some lovely—”
“You two can go. I’m not leaving this car.”
Cole had a sinking feeling that the project was doomed, but he pulled off the freeway at the proper exit and found the place without difficulty. It seemed to be in a building that had once been something else, such as a theme restaurant or a miniature golf place, with wooden planks for walls and a square tower rising in the middle.
Again Gordon refused to get out. Just sat there like a lump with Cole and Sandor waiting outside the open car door.
“Exactly what do you hope to accomplish by all this?” Cole asked.
“I hope to die,” Gordon said. “That’s what I’m going to do: I’m going to die. Or hibernate, or whatever you call it. I’d rather starve than live like this anymore.”
“Don’t be melodramatic,” Cole said, exasperated. “You won’t starve. You’ll lose control first.”
“Watch me.”
“It’s not about watching you. You can try all you want, but you’ll fail. And the longer you wait, the more spectacularly you’ll fail.”
“You don’t know me. When I want something bad enough, I go for it. I’ve held my breath till I passed out.”
His arms were crossed; his face was like stone.
He meant every word he said. The kid really meant it.
Cole shut Gordo’s door and walked around to the driver’s side.
“Now what?” Sandor said over the roof of the car. “Do you want to move on, or should you and I go ahead and feed, or what?”
Cole bent to give Gordo a quick glance. Even in the shadows of the backseat, he radiated anger.
“We can’t force him to go in,” Cole told Sandor. “And he shouldn’t be left alone. You go ahead, and I’ll stay out here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I need to think anyway.”
Sandor disappeared inside, and Cole got into the car again. Gordo was a lump in the back.
Cole ignored him.
If Gordon gets completely out of hand, Johnny had said. If you feel he’s becoming a danger to the rest of us.
Gordo wasn’t getting out of hand—no, the kid was just having a little tantrum, that was all. He didn’t have the focus to hold off feeding for very long. He’d probably forget about his little rebellion by tomorrow night.
But if he didn’t? If he continued to refuse?
Cole leaned his head back against the headrest. He knew his body appeared relaxed, calm, but he felt as if the kid were edging him up against a cliff, forcing him to fight to keep his footing.
Gordo still sat in his usual spot. He hadn’t said a word. But after a few moments a soft noise began to intrude on the silence in the car, at intervals, so low that at first Cole thought it was the wind, or something far down the street.
But when he finally lifted his head and looked around, he saw that it was Gordo.
The kid had fallen asleep. He was still tightly buckled, sitting upright against the seat back, but his eyes were closed and his head drooped to one side. His mouth had relaxed and from this came the deep, regular sound of breathing.
He looked as if he couldn’t hurt a fly.
Cole turned around again. He sat staring at the car parked ahead of him, considering.
Likely the boy was simply worn out. Yes, that was it—tired, and overwhelmed.
As soon as Sandor came back, they’d find a place close by. Let the kid have extra downtime. Maybe he just needed a night off from feeding. Maybe a good day’s sleep would solve the problem.
Maybe tomorrow night he’d wake up agreeable and willing again, and with his feet back on the ground.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SLEEP did not help Gordo.
The next evening started off as a repeat of the one previous. Cole was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting, when Gordo came out of the bathroom. He flung his belongings into his suitcase, then himself into a chair, where he sat, glaring at nothing.
His death wish didn’t extend to letting his hair go uncoiffed, Cole noted with some acerbity.
Sandor went into the bathroom to make sure they weren’t leaving anything behind. “I guess that’s it,” he said to Cole as he came out. Then he added a little louder, “Gordo, are you ready?”
Gordo ignored him.
“What kind of place would you like to try tonight?” Sandor continued, as if nothing was wrong, as if the kid wasn’t sulking like a two-year-old omni. “Would you like to learn about feeding in movie theaters?”
Gordo didn’t even look around. “You go wherever you want. I’m not feeding.”
There was no question now. The kid had drawn an invisible circle around himself. All matters heme were now shut out.
Or so he thought. But Cole knew better.
Gordo might look as if he wouldn’t hurt a fly, but he would—and much, much worse.
Cole thought about it as he pulled out of the hotel parking lot. God—what if Gordo didn’t feed, and didn’t feed, and finally went wild? What if he lost control in a hotel, in public; what if he at
tacked someone who was walking by? What if he jumped out of the car while it was moving?
Johnny had said it wouldn’t come to that—but clearly Johnny was wrong. The boy wasn’t doing fine.
And it was Cole’s responsibility to see that Gordo didn’t get out of control. That’s what he’d signed up for.
He eased up the freeway ramp, driving as carefully as ever. But his stomach twisted into a sour knot at the thought of what he might have to do to solve this problem. He couldn’t help but wonder what had gone through the mind of that Old World heme when the predawn light had begun to glow between the boards of that shed.
Morning light was mechanical, inhuman. Once it started rolling over the horizon it was relentless. What had that heme felt as it came?
What would Gordo feel?
God. The kid didn’t deserve to be tortured into a brittle shell of a human being just because he was an omni-ish dope.
Cole noticed that he was gripping the steering wheel too hard. He relaxed his fingers, flexing them. He could not afford to get emotional or panicked about this. He had to push emotion aside and think.
The bottom line was that missing an occasional night of feeding wasn’t a big deal. Two nights of refusal wouldn’t hurt anybody either.
Before the third night was out, though, the kid would probably start to feel it. As the evening wore on, Thirst would start to uncurl in his body. He’d likely give in pretty quickly then, not being used to feeling any Thirst at all.
But if he didn’t?
By the fourth night Gordo’s instinct to feed would be stronger than any internal promise, any stubbornness. Cole himself had managed to go longer than that a few times, long ago.
They were now on night number two.
Okay. Cole still had tonight and at least part of tomorrow night before anything happened. He could get this turned around.
He would get this turned around.
Sandor was subdued, looking out the window at the passing businesses and office parks. Gordo leaned against the door; Cole could only see part of his shoulder and head in the mirror.
Methodically, Cole thought through everything he knew about control and Thirst. He knew quite a bit; more than he should have. It wasn’t something he liked to remember; he had let it all fall into a general hole somewhere in the back of his brain, because bringing it out was pointless and rather cringe inducing.
The fact was, in the years between the time Bess had left him till the moment of her fall, Cole had come as close to having a death wish as a hemovore could. He’d been a lot more experienced than Gordo by then, but there was no denying that he’d done some pretty stupid things.
He began to sort through those things now, ticking off possible courses of action, considering, rejecting—trying to come up with a plan.
When Cole pulled over at a truck stop, Sandor sat up.
“Do we need gas already?” he asked, looking around. The truck stop was good sized, a gas station with a store and restaurant attached.
“No,” Cole said. “It’s just a change from bars. Ready to feed, Gordo?” he asked, keeping his tone casual.
“No,” said Gordo.
“Then you won’t mind waiting for us in the car.” He didn’t bother to keep the coldness out of his voice. As he got out he gave Sandor a glance: I want to talk to you.
Inside, the restaurant had a couple of customers. A cashier watched over the store section, but Cole saw a small arcade area next to the restaurant, and that’s where he headed, followed by Sandor.
As he’d hoped, no one else was in the arcade. As if by agreement, he and Sandor walked over to the token machine.
“I think maybe we should call Johnny,” Sandor said, as Cole pulled out his wallet—Cole didn’t really want to play anything, but he didn’t want to be accused of loitering either.
“No,” he told Sandor. “Johnny might come out here.”
“Do you think that would be bad?”
“Not exactly.” Cole took out a dollar bill and stuck it in the slot. “It’s just that I don’t know where Johnny draws the line.” Tokens rained down, but he didn’t pick them up; he was searching for words to explain what he was thinking. “The way Gordo is right now,” he finally told Sandor, “I don’t know how Johnny’s going to see him. He might see an asset that needs help to reach its potential—or he might just see a liability.” Now Cole bent and scooped up the tokens. “Do you know what I mean?”
“Well…yes, I suppose. Hmm, try that game by the window. That way we can keep an eye on Gordo.”
So they went over to Zombie Death House. Sandor was right; through the window they could see the car, with Gordo slouched in the backseat.
Cole dropped tokens into the slot and took the plastic gun out of its holster.
“I’m not sure Gordo would listen to Johnny anyway,” Sandor continued, leaning against the side of the game. “Johnny isn’t physically imposing, you know, and he makes suggestions rather than ordering people around. All the time we were in New York, I don’t think Gordo ever caught on that Johnny wasn’t just some little guy in the back.”
“I think we can take care of Gordo on our own anyway.” Cole pressed the button and began to play, halfheartedly shooting zombies as they popped out from their hiding places.
“How?”
“We can’t force him to feed. There’s no way we can keep him from driving himself to the breaking point. What we can do is decide where and how the breaking point happens.”
“Are you suggesting that we lock him up somewhere?”
“No, no. Just listen for a sec. I figure he’ll start feeling it tomorrow or the next night. Do you agree?”
“Yes, definitely.”
“Gordo’s not used to controlling himself, and he’s not used to feeling real Thirst.” Cole remembered how the kid had lusted after the drops on that girl’s fingertips in New York. “I think we should find a place tonight and then settle in for as long as it takes. Not just any place—the right place. Tomorrow evening we’ll bring a feed to the room and wait Gordo out. When he shows signs that he’s getting antsy, we’ll make him crack—but at a place and in a manner of our choosing.”
RELOAD, the screen said. Belatedly, Cole aimed off screen and pulled the trigger.
“Make him crack,” Sandor repeated. “You mean by tempting him as he’s on the point of losing control anyway?”
“Exactly. One little puncture at the right time, a whiff of blood, and he’ll drop like an overripe fruit.”
“Hmm. So when you say ‘the right place,’ you mean ‘cheap hotel in a red-light district.’”
“Maybe near a red-light district. I’d like to be able to get some sleep.”
“I think it’s a good plan, Cole. But what about afterward? What if he pulls this again? Are we to go on tempting him and making him crack every few nights?”
“If we have to. But I don’t think he will. That first feed of his was a nightmare. He’s already felt it wasn’t quite real, and the farther he gets from it, the easier for him to believe it wasn’t real.”
“It is rather a sobering thing, to be out of control in that way.”
“We’ll be with him this time.”
“Yes.” Sandor sighed. “I hope I don’t have to hit him again. By the way,” he added, “you’re out of ammo. And there’s a health pickup on the right.”
“What? Oh.” Cole reloaded again and fired at the screen without looking. “So we’re agreed?” he asked Sandor.
“Yes. Poor little fellow,” Sandor said, with another glance at the car. “We have to remember; he’s only eighteen. His hormones must be a raging mosh pit of emotion.”
“I’m eighteen, and my hormones aren’t a raging mosh pit.”
“Maybe yours got worn out already.”
INSERT TOKENS TO CONTINUE flashed on the screen. Cole stuck the gun back in its holder. He was missing more zombies than he shot anyway. “Are we ready to go then?”
“Yes. We need to get moving if we wa
nt to find a suitable place tonight. But…you didn’t feed last night, did you? Would you like to find something here? Although it looks like your options are limited at the moment.”
Cole looked around. No one was in sight except the cashier, who now leaned against the register, talking to someone on the phone.
Cole quickly weighed the possibilities: subdue the guy in full view of the store security cameras, hide in the bathroom to wait for one of the restaurant customers, or feed later when they stopped for the day.
The cashier laughed into the phone, and Cole saw that his teeth were stained with nicotine.
“I’ll wait,” he said. Sandor was right; they needed to get moving. He wanted to get out of West Virginia, head as far east as they could get in a few hours—to DC, maybe Baltimore. After they got checked in, he should have time to get a decent feed.
Night number three—he hoped that would be the key.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THEY found the “right place” in Baltimore, along a street lined with check-cashing places, pawnshops, and bail bondsmen.
The hotel was a two-story rectangle tucked between a corner thrift shop and an abandoned storefront. Its bricks had been painted white—only recently, from the fresh look of the paint—but dark streaks had begun to run down from the roof, which evidently was made from something that didn’t stay put during rain. The sign out front was missing the T and the L, so it said:
VICKERY MO E
UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT
DAILY AND WEEKLY RATES
It was the “daily and weekly rates” that drew Cole. He didn’t want anything that rented rooms by the hour.
“The Vickery Moe,” read Sandor, as Cole pulled into the lumpy parking lot. “Oh, I like that.”
“What’s this?” Gordo looked up at the dark streaks in disgust.
“This is where we’re staying until you feed,” Cole told him. He felt quite calm, now that he’d lined up a reasonable plan of action. And if the kid thought the Vickery Moe was punishment for not feeding, that was fine with Cole.
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